


For You I Will Kiss the Dirt Goodbye

by Lidsworth



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, M/M, cultural differences slightly alluded to, elrondir, just a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-02 23:54:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8688484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lidsworth/pseuds/Lidsworth
Summary: As the Third Age comes to its end, Elrond asks Lindir to come to Valinor with him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Beware the angst and the errors. I'm my own beta! Finally posted my first Elrondir story (yay)! Enjoy! Feedback is much appreciated, that includes critique! I started it rather abruptly so forgive me! 
> 
> I don't think this is my best work but I wanted to post it anyway :,)

“V-Valinor, my Lord?”

Lindir had to have known _this_ was coming no matter how hard he had tried to push the possibility of leaving Middle Earth to the back of his mind. He _was_ Elrond’s spouse after all.  And when he married Elrond—he married _everything_ about Elrond.

His culture. His status. His family. His home. His _real_ home, Lindir had to remind himself. He would never try to wrap his head around the fact that despite being born in Middle Earth, Elrond was expected to claim Valinor as his homeland. Unsure of what else to do, the Silvan elf blamed the Valar for the lack of logic, and felt little ease at the prospect of sailing to a realm where they ruled _._

“Lindir? Are you alright?”  
  
“Yes Elrond, I’m fine.” His words were not convincing, and the Peredhel could sense his obvious distress.

“Lindir, will you sit?” “Yes.” He wasted no time in descending down onto their bed, twiddling his thumbs nervously.

He averted his gaze, looking away as Elrond sat beside him.

Valinor…was…well Valinor. And from what he gathered of Lord Glorfidenl’s tales, it was _nothing_ like Middle Earth. Which is why he supposed that the Golden Lord had confided in him, privately, that he would not be making his trek back to Grey Havens. He had fallen in love with the land.

Lindir had as well. He’d been born there. Before the Noldor, before their buildings of stone and brick.

“What is it that bothers you?” Elrond spoke softly, when Lindir had seemed to calm himself.

“Nothing Elrond…it’s just—”  
  
“You do not want to come to Valinor, with me.” It was a statement rather than a question.

“No! No,” Lindir spoke quickly, “It has _nothing_ to do with you, Elrond. Nothing at all. It’s just…Valinor. It’s not what I’m used to.”

He remembered sitting on the floor on the other side of his food mat, across from his mother and father, days after the Noldor had settled into their woods. The air had been solemn, their once impenetrable woodland silence interrupted by the noisy “clangs” of the hammer and metals in the distance.

His father had stopped his hand midway over their breakfast, cringing as the echo of an explosion combed through the tall trees and shook woods at their roots. The birds had flown overhead as the smoke had filled the sky, leaving their homely abode forever.  

Lindir wished that he and his family had done the same, for within in a year, the trees were gone. The hidden city Nargothrond towering over their graves.

At the time, Lindir had not known much about them, the Noldor.  Only that these newcomers from Valinor had cut down the trees, and brought Morgoth with them, more so than the Sindar had.

He hadn’t liked them—not until Erestor. And later not until Elrond. Though all feelings aside for his lover, the prospect of trading his wondrous woods and trees for a realm of gold and fortresses rubbed him the entirely wrong way.

“I understand,” Elrond has stood quickly, and Lindir almost cried as his love’s warmth left his hands, “You are of this earth more so than I. It was wrong of me to ask you so—“

“No Elrond, I—I think it’s wonderful,” with feigned happiness, he stood beside his Lord, “I am just overwhelmed.”

“Then I shall give you time, time to think.”  
  
“There’s no need, Elrond. I don’t believe that leaving your side was ever an option.” He swallowed his fear and met the Peredhel’s gaze sincerely. His home was where Elrond was. And if that meant miles away from his beloved Middle Earth, than he would accept that with a heavy heart.

Elrond looked at him with a heavy expression. He didn’t quite smile, nor did he frown, and stared with his brows knitted and lips tight, as if he meant to speak but was unsure of what to say.  
  
And what could he say?

Neither said anything for a while, and allowed the unease of the conversation to thicken to atmosphere of the room.  The air was quite tense, and by now Lindir had returned to his seat on the bed, and averted his gaze to his thumbs, which danced nervously on his lap. Elrond’s knowing look had unsettled him, and he wondered what life the Ring Bearer had seen for him in Valinor.

“Lindir. Do you want to do this?” His stern, commanding yet gentle tone caught Lindir’s attention immediately. It demanded the truth—it demanded honesty.

He took a deep breath and spoke.

“No, my Lord. Middle Earth has been my home for centuries. I love the river as if it is my sister and the trees as if they are my brothers. And of my elven kin,” he continued, “I shall see them no more. We are Silvan, and we belong to the woods.”  
“I feel my soul intertwined within the dirt as yours is to the water, and I suppose I will have a sort of “forest” longing when I go overseas with you,” Lindir spoke his mind sadly as he answered his Lord, heart clenching as Elrond’s impassive mask cracked just slightly, “But my home is where my heart is, and you are that heart, Elrond. For you I would kiss the woods goodbye.”

There was little justice in lying to Elrond, especially if his departure from his homeland would cause him great pain in Valinor. At least this way Elrond would do what he could to ease Lindir’s transition from woods to city.

The half elf looked crushed, wounded almost. Lindir looked away as his eyes glazed over, for there was little comfort the Silvan elf could offer. He only hoped that his willingness would be enough to stave the guilt that the Peredhel would no doubt face in the near future.

After a short moment of silence, Elrond turned towards the door and made his leave. Though at the threshold, he stopped as he meant to say something, but continued onward when the words didn’t come.

Alone, Lindir released a sigh that he didn’t even know he’d been holding.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of feels for silvan elves and their relations to Valinor. Especially those who have to go to Valinor, given that that's not their homeland, and with the racial undertones and established hierarchy in Valinor, I doubt it's a place they're all aspiring to go to. 
> 
> I also have a lot of feelings of the Noldor and their ways, and how the Silvan elves could have felt (I get into it, so if you wanna talk about it hit me up on [tumblr](http://inkstranger.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Lindir is no exception. Usually I headcanon him as younger than Elrond, but I wanted to try something different for this particular fic. Hoe you like it :)


End file.
